Old Dumbledore Faked My Scar!
by Alexeyy
Summary: When Harry took polyjuice and it wore off, he found himself lacking his famous scar. Who will be now the warrior of the Light? Follow the humorous story to the destruction of Voldemort.


**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** When Harry took polyjuice and it wore off, he found himself lacking his famous scar. Who will be now the warrior of the Light? Follow the humorous story to the destruction of Voldemort.

**A/N:** This little joke was inspired by a discussion on DLP: what if Harry was wearing glamour through all his life to hide the fact that his real father was Sirius? What if the freaky polyjuice accident reveals the secret?

**Old Dumbledore Faked My Scar!**

***

Somewhere Post-OotP in the middle of HBP…

'Hey, Neville, psst!' called Harry from around the corner.

'What's up, Harry?'

Harry didn't say anything but snatched Neville into some secluded cranny at the Gryffindor common-room.

***

'See this batch of polyjuice potion?'

'Yeah,' Neville said, carefully eyeing the bubbling pot. 'What about it?'

'Well, you see—' Harry said vaguely.

'Do you like Ginny, Neville?' He suddenly asked. He was looking over Neville's shoulder as he talked, so his gaze was fixed constantly upon the nameless chick Neville was currently dating.

Neville blushed and appeared to struggle with himself. 'Well, you know already, Harry. What d' you ask for?'

'But, you like her, don't you?' he pressed. Neville surprised Harry when he pulled his inner Gryffindor to the front and said:

'Yeah, _you_'re dating her! But I do. I do like Ginny, Harry. I— I _love_ her. I realised that the moment she said to me, back at the Ball, 'You, clumsy bumpkin! One more time — _one more time_ — and I'll hex your snots into oblivion!'

Harry did remember at the Yule Ball Ginny hissing on parseltongue every time Neville stepped on her feet. He marvelled at her ability at the time, right until he was told that everyone else understood her, too, then. Again, as Neville continued to babble on, he thought about what in nine regions of hell he saw in the little, possessive, stinging, immature, capricious jilt with a flat chest.

He finally emerged from his musings to hear Neville emerge from his own:

'…but I'ma— I'm all-right with you dating her, Harry. You have my blessings, yeah. But— You know: if a single hair on her head is harmed, if you so much as touch her…' Neville said this with sush a vehemence that made Harry's neck's hair raised. 'I'll personally hunt you down and—'

'Whoa, whoa, whoa, Neville!' he raised his hand. 'But— if I wasn't dating her, you'd go after her, right?'

'Yeah,' Neville said, reddening even more, '_yeah_. But why d' you ask?'

'You see, Neville, I don't like Ginny,' he confessed, enjoying the other boy's stupefied expression. 'I happen to like that Mary Sue chick you're currently dating.'

'You don't— I mean, you do?' Neville said eagerly. He turned around and _his_ gaze searched Ginny.

'You see, what about we took polyjuice, and swap our dates?'

'Swap our dates…' Neville repeated dreamily. Apparently, Neville heard only the last bit of what he had said.

Harry, seeing his opportunity, filled two goblets with the bubbling slop, and pushed one of them into Neville's hands:

'Ok, Neville, lets drink to your marriage!'

'Our marriage…' Neville breathed. He was still dreaming. Absent-mindedly, he raised the goblet to his lips and sipped pleasantly. He didn't mind the vile taste at all.

Harry raised his own goblet to his lips and drank its contents, trying not to gag.

***

'…so, let's be clear about it: you are not Neville, right?'

'R-r-right,' quipped Harry.

'You drank polyjuice potion to look exactly like Neville?'

'R-r-right.' Harry foresaw the questioning would last for a very long time. He was already questioning his reckless "brilliant idea" (using polyjuice to swap with Neville), for his very first date with Mary Sue turned out into their very first argument, that will inevitably conclude into their very first break-up. All in all, Harry already considered this lightning-speed affair as a long and fruitful, educational relationship.

'Because you _liked_ me and wanted to get to know me better?'

'R-r— Well, I see now how stupid that was.' Maybe he _liked_ her, but that was in a different lifetime. Now, when he got to know her better, he learned that she is nothing less than a stuck-up, frigid snob. 'Look, Mandy—'

'Mary…'

'I'm sorry — Mary, I was drunk, I admit, slightly beside myself.'

'R-r-right,' she quipped.

'Neville liked another girl. And _I_ wanted to get to know you better.'

'R-r-right.'

'And this girl Neville liked happened to be dating me at the time. I thought swapping with him was a brilliant plan, because, in the end: everyone'll be happy!'

'But you was wrong.'

'Yes. You should understand, Mandy: nobody likes you.'

Mandy let out a terrible screech and went to claw on to Harry with her two-inches-long, talon-like, thickly-varnished nails, — but the polyjuice in Harry's system chose that moment to wear off. Mandy, in frozen transfixety, watched Harry become Harry.

***

When Mandy, frustrated and angry, with messed-up hair, ruined make-up, and all her incredible magical abilities running haywire, zapped from existence in a glorifying lightshow; when Harry properly revelled in the feeling of rightness to be in his own body at last, when he had assessed his every limb, his every knobbly knee, he was suddenly struck with realization that his famous, disfiguring lightning-bolt shaped scar was missing. His forehead was only adorned with the evidence of his most recent scrape with the late Mandy Fue (as the rest of his face and arms), and bore no sign of his very first scrape with Voldemort.

'Whoo-hoo! Hurrah! Calloh! Callay!' exclaimed he in his joy. He ran charging down the corridor bellowing his little song of victory at the top of his lungs, which was only interjected with the occasional 'Halleluiah!' and 'Whoopy-whop!'

He ran in that fashion for quite some time, scaring the lives out of the Hogwarts populace, until he met with the equally agitated Neville, though the flame of _his_ agitation (that was fairly obvious) fed on quite a different fuel: in the middle of Neville's forehead, in all its obvious glory, rested Harry's lost lightning-shaped scar. Some distance behind Neville Ginny Weasley could be seen, with a rather scary calculating expression on her face, her narrowed eyes fixed firmly upon Neville's back. Have Neville noticed her look, he might have been wary of her in the future, but he was oblivious, and rather preoccupied at the moment: he was engaged in a captivating conversation with Harry.

'Argh! Argh!' cried they both. 'Argh!'

Then Neville lost it; he tumbled down, and went limp in dead faint.

***

As came to light, when the commotion had died out some, the absence of Harry's scar was not the only change that overtook his body with the reversal of potion's effects. The nearing magical maturity, his overall frustration, the cleansing effect of the polyjuice, and his incredible luck helped him to get rid of the last vestiges of the deteriorated over the ages glamour charm and revealed Harry to be the last heir of the Blacks' family. With his new, improved look, noble features, elegant appearance, and certain peculiar way his dark hair fell into his eyes there was no mistake as to who was his real father: Sirius Black.

***

'You might have already guessed, Harry,' said Dumbledore, 'why you were never given any real training to help you defeat Voldemort.'

'But— _Why_, sir?'

'You see, Harry,' he said amiably, 'you was a part of a brilliant plan that I devised when the whimsy Sybill had made her prophecy in that dusty backroom all these years ago.'

'That plan also helped your mother to cover the mistakes of the youth that resulted in your birth. She was young, Harry, and as every youth she was entitled to make mistakes inherent to her age, mistakes any other inexperienced young woman could be excused to make.'

'She came to me, as she realized she was pregnant with you, Harry. Sirius Black was your real father, and Lily had already doused James with an extremely potent Love Potion. She didn't know what to do, she was quite lost, having already chosen James over Sirius, as the former was the sole heir of a rich, prominent family, and the latter — nothing more than a disowned wreck.'

'I saw you as a Providence's gift and immediately applied the charm to permanently alter your looks, the charm that was greatly amplified by your, shall we say, rudimentary condition. Your birth was forced magically to come on the preconceived date. That was all a sham that was supposed to protect the Chosen One.'

'I decided to make it so the _right_ champion would look like an inept squib, and had already prepared to place upon him magical blocks and memory inhibitors the moment I find exactly who he is. And I did so when Neville was born, and thus he was allowed a chance to live past his early years, a chance to meet Voldemort as a true equal when the time has come, when he will grow into a true warrior Fate has chosen him to be.'

'Alas, Neville didn't show any potential for leadership, nor did he show any peculiar magical proficiency as he grew up. And you, Harry, you, to my great astonishment, was marked with the killing curse, and lived. You have brought into magical world many years of peace. I was confused: my ruse didn't work, or worked in a strange way, and I decided to stop tinkering with Fate for the time being, and settled to wait.'

As Dumbledore continued, his voice reached powerful crescendo, he appeared to have somehow stood up, his hair in disarray, air rushed around him, flipping his robes magnificently, the mad glint in his eyes giving out the last doubt about whether he was ever mentally stable.

'And now I see Fate triumphs, the Magic itself, I believe, pointed to its real champion; the only one who was born as the seventh month died, the only one whose parents have thrice defied Voldemort. Neville is the true champion of the light, Harry, he always was.'

And with that laudable war-cry Dumbledore went silent. He realised he was standing and sat back to his chair, straightened out his beard, steepled his fingers and looked at Harry as serene and unflappable as ever.

'But— _Why_, sir?' repeated Harry. 'Why did my mom betray me so? _Why?_'

'Ah, Harry,' said Dumbledore, as he ostentatiously picked up the quill and shuffled the papers, 'this is a question you will have to find an answer to yourself.'

***

'And so, young Harry, we met again,' stated the Dark Lord. 'And let us hope, for the last time.'

'The obstinate old man dead,' continued Voldemort as he prowled around the room. 'The precious Order destroyed. The Ministry under my control.' He clenched his fist as if destroying it all again. He savoured in the feeling, before making a contemptous grimace and spitting out: 'The friends are covering in their holes, abandoning you to your fate.' He stopped to look Harry directly in the eyes, and hissed with finality: 'There will be no mother to sacrifice herself, nor any other chance to escape.'

That was true. Harry was trapped. The chamber seemingly contained nor doors, nor windows. The magic was thick in the room: he could perfectly sense the anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards, and _he_ was no expert in sensing magic field. The sheet of paper he arrived by, which served as a portkey, wasn't going to take him back.

The trail was supposed to lead him to the underground safe-house. Harry was on a hunt for a prominent Voldemort's follower. And now he became the hunted. The anonymous informant, who Harry suspected all along to be none other than Snape, and who had wiggled slowly his way up into his confidence with a series of useful tips, which helped the Resistance in its struggle with Voldemort's forces, this informant had skilfully led him into a trap.

'Where be your jibes now, poor Harry? Have you nothing to say before you die?' jeered the Dark Lord.

'Yes, I think it's the end,' said Harry to himself, 'nothing will save me now. No training could prepare me to face Voldemort. By no twist of fate will I win.'

'How crushed Neville will be,' was Harry's last rueful thought, as he prepared to the last stand, however slim his chances to live through it might be, 'he didn't have a chance to repay his latest life-debt to me.'

At that moment a loud CRACK disturbed the quiet of the crypt. Dobby the house-elf, holding hands with Neville, appeared on the scene. How Neville managed to track him was a mistery to Harry — and how did he manage to follow him into what probably was the most secure room in the world being the greater mystery still (though here he guessed Dobby had had some hand in the process) — but Harry was immensely thankful for this timely arrival.

Neville's expression was eager, he was in his full battle gear, but, quite suddenly, there was no need to fight anymore: half of Voldemort's chest and face, displaced by apparition, vanished. The remaining parts were bleeding out their last blood. Voldemort's body died without making a sound.

Dobby and Neville stepped hurriedly from the deformed body, and both applied a series of cleaning charms, as Voldemort's blood appeared to be quite toxic.

There was a rush of something dark streaking past the trio. The wraith went upwards with a horrible scream.

'We'll dig this way!' exclaimed Neville, pointing to the place where the shade disappeared. Harry and Neville raised their wands (while Dobby raised his fingers), and they all thought to their arsenal of reductors and tunnel-making spells.

THE END

***

**Afterword:**

Now, the reader might find himself wondering as to the time he wasted reading this fic, having found no answer to the questions raised by the summary and the following up author notes:

What kind of impact might have had such a metamorphosis on young Harry? What lasting damage might have caused the information about his true parentage? And, further, there are questions of similar kind, concerning Neville.

My answer to this is quite simple: there won't be any real impact, nor lasting damage, to either Harry or Neville, as both of them were quite developed as characters at the time.

The revelation about Sirius being his real father wouldn't have shook Harry too strongly, as his life had already shitted on him pretty badly indeed. It would have been a sad revelation, but he'd overcome the sadness and move on; the relief of not having to destroy Voldemort anymore (though presenting some issues) could only help him recover. Other than that, he would remain the same Harry we all know.

As to how Neville would be affected by Fate placing on him the responsibility of being the Chosen One: well, he does have friends. And additional drive to prove himself, again, could only help him on the road of accepting this responsibility, and boost his confidence level.

Besides, let it be pointed out, it is unacceptable to have too much space dedicated to angst theme in humorous fiction, and that's exactly what this fiction is.

And so, farewell thee, dear Reader, try not to fall for the bait similar to this fiction in the future. Adios.


End file.
